


Louder Than Words

by bamby0304



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 12:42:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16933446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bamby0304/pseuds/bamby0304
Summary: Relationships are hard. Even hunters struggle. So, when things become too hard and too much, you drag Dean to couple’s counselling. Of course, you really should have known better.





	1. Louder Than Words I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationships are hard. Even hunters struggle. So, when things become too hard and too much, you drag Dean to couple’s counselling. Of course, you really should have known better.

**_Warnings_ : Angst. Explicit language. I typed this up in, like, an hour…**

**Bamby**

“Y/N,” the kind counsellor smiled in your direction. “Why don’t you start? Tell me why you’re here.”

You glance over at Dean as he sits on the couch opposite yours. When he chose to sit across instead of next to you, it broke you heart. But, truth be told, you shouldn’t have been surprised. The two of you had been growing more and more distant lately. _That’s_  why you were currently sitting on the uncomfortable too-clean white leather couch and soaking into the strong vanilla and rose perfume scent filling the room.

Clearing your throat, you shifted as you gave a short shrug. “I just… we don’t talk anymore.”

The woman, Doctor Andrews, offers an encouraging nod. “Keep going.”

Seeing that gentle and friendly glimmer in her eyes… you can’t help it. After weeks, no, _months_  of strain and detachment, loneliness and heartache, uncertainties and insecurities, you break.

“I miss him. I miss us. In the beginning we were great. It was easy. Everything just fell into place. And then, now, I don’t know. It all feels so forced. It feels like he doesn’t want to be here anymore.”

“Do you, Dean?” She turned to look at him then. “Do you want to be here?”

“Here?” Dean gestured to the room. “No. In this relationship?” He wouldn’t look your way as he shrugged. “It’s hard.”

That hurt. It stung. It stabbed. It killed.

Dean, the man you loved, the man who owned your heart… it was too hard for him now. Too much. Knowing it, hearing it, seeing it in his face, it broke you into smaller pieces, chipping away at your already crumbling self.

Nodding, not dismissing or agreeing with him, Doctor Andrews pressed for more, “Tell me what’s hard, Dean.”

“Everything.” He shrugged again. “We work together, live together, do everything together. There isn’t a second where we can just breath and be alone to think.”

Lately you felt that was a blessing. You feared that if he was alone, without you… well, you doubted he’d come back.

"Let’s talk about your work,” Andrews suggested.

You and Dean glanced at each other then, the two of you knowing how little you could actually disclose. But you’d both agreed to come here and give it a shot, which meant doing what the doctor said. You were just going to have to get creative with yours wording.

Not noticing the slight change in you and Dean, Andrews continued, “What kind of work do you do?”

"We’re private investigators. It’s a lot of road time. Practically live in cheap motels. Sometimes we go after some rough people, it can get a little dangerous. My brother works with us, too, so it get’s cramped,” Dean answered indifferently.

“Your brother, do you have a close relationship with him?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. I mean, he lives with us, too. Three of us are hardly apart,” he noted.

Andrews looked surprised and concerned, turning to you. “What’s your relationship with Dean’s brother?”

In an instant you could see what she was poking at, and just as quickly you shut that idea down. “Sam’s not the problem. Sam supports us.”

“I’m sure he does, but I’m just trying to figure out if there’s strain coming from a third party here.”

“Sam’s not the problem,” you repeated at the same time Dean echoed your words.

Nodding, Andrews dropped the subject. “Okay, well, your work. Dean, you said it can be dangerous. Do you worry about Y/N?”

“Of course,” he answered simply. “I don’t stop. You think I like her risking herself all the time? Chasing after guys that are bigger and stronger than her.”

The words fall from your lips before you can stop them, “I can handle myself, Dean.”

His jaw ticked. “Last month you were stuck in bed with a dislocated shoulder and sprained ankle.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start this again.”

“Don’t start what?”

“You know what?”

“No. I really don’t. Please, enlighten me.”

Having enough of this game, you snapped. “You always do this. You drudge up the past, use injuries and accidents against me. You’re always trying to get me to sit jobs out. You want me to stay home and bake you pies and sit on my ass. But I don’t. I can’t. Sitting around last month killed me because you and Sam still went out and worked and I worried. I worry every fucking second. About both of you. That’s why I jumped in front of that dem- client,” you quickly corrected. “He was going to hurt you and I didn’t want to see that.”

“So, what? You thought it would be better if you got hurt? You think I want to see that? You’re unbelievable!”

“Me?! You knew I was part of the life when we first got together. That’s how we met. We agreed to work side by side, but slowly you’ve been pushing me further and further back… I’m scared you can’t even see me anymore, Dean.”

He rolled his head back a little then, looking less than impressed and very annoyed.

“I don’t even know if you love me anymore. When’s the last time you touched me? When’s the last time you told me you cared? Can you tell me? ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t remember.” You felt a hopeless and broken tear roll down your cheek. “You don’t even sleep in our bed anymore.”

Shaking his head, he refused to look at you.

“I lay awake at night waiting, hoping, fucking _praying_  that you’ll come to me. All I want is your arms wrapped around me, telling me that it’s okay, that _we’re_  okay. But all I get is orders to stay back, and quick patch ups after a hard job. You haven’t smiled at me in months. Just tell me when you fell out of love, break my heart, rip me apart and tell me to leave so I can get it over and done with.”

Silence followed.

Dean stayed sitting there, on his couch, arm draped over the back of it, refusing to look at anything but the empty spot by his side.

“Dean?” Andrews pressed. “Y/N is trying to open up here… do you have anything to-”

You stood suddenly, cutting her off. “Forget it. He’s said enough.” Turning on you heels, you stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind you.

No one followed. No one called. No one tried to stop you. So, you didn’t stop. You didn’t stop walking until you were down the hall, out the front door, on the street, around the block, breaking into a car parked on the side of the road and speeding out of town.

Hours ticked by, turning into days. Days rolled over, turning into weeks. Weeks passed on, turning into months. One job turned into two. Two turned into four. Four into eight. Eight into sixteen. You never stopped. You never turned back. You just kept going. By the end of the year you’d drowned yourself in cases. You’d left everything of your old life behind and lived on nothing but the kill of whatever monster came next.

Things got easier. You never got over Dean, never fell in love again, you just used body after body in an effort to exhaust yourself enough to sleep at night. But no one got you like he did, no one touched you like he did, and every attempt as satisfaction left you more and more numb. Eventually you just shut yourself off. Eventually you just turned on autopilot.

It was three years later, during an easy salt-and-burn case, when you saw the familiar, sleek, black beauty roll into the parking lot of you motel. The roar of the Impala filling your heart and soul like a song that belonged there.

**Bamby**


	2. Louder Than Words II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You walked out of Dean’s life three years ago. After being with him for the better part of your life, it all came crashing down in a therapy room where you were trying to fix what little you had left. Giving up, you walked out- literally- and didn’t turn back. Now, so many years later, you were left to face those unanswered questions and the heartache that festered in your chest.

**_Warnings_ : Angst.**

**Bamby**

You stood by the window of your motel room, frozen in place as your grip on the curtain increased with each passing second. All thought had left your mind, only leaving the memory of that fateful day on repeat. Any trace of happiness you’d scraped together over the three years was flushed away by the image in front of you.

He was climbing out of that beautiful, black, sleek car of his. Heavy boots landed on the asphalt, a small cloud of dust forming from the dirt being disturbed by the simple move. Legs that bowed and went on for days, clad in dark blue denim, stretched as he stood to full height. He was tall, possibly taller than you’d last seen him. Tall and broad, all solid build and pure man.

Dean Winchester, the man who’d crushed your hopes and dreams of finding a little bit of happiness in a life that held nothing but misery.

As you stood there, watching him, unable to move from the spot, you felt a pang in your chest you hadn’t felt for so long, but not long enough.

For so long you’d built up walls to barricade yourself from the hurt. When you decided to walk out of that therapy room, out of Dean’s life, you decided you would turn off any and all emotions when it came to the oldest Winchester. You allowed yourself to hate him, for a good part of the three years you were without him, but it faded after a while, and you learned how to live without him or everything you’d once felt.

Now, though, it was crashing back, like a freight train crushing an unsuspecting mouse. The mouse didn’t stand a chance.

Still frozen, cemented in place, you fell deeper into the black bit of despair that came with seeing Dean. You wallowed in your loss. Not only did you leave the man you thought was the love of your life, but you left behind a part of yourself that day. A part that had been clutching any semblance of normal it could. That was gone now.

Too far in your thoughts, you didn’t see him move until it was too late. As if he could feel eyes on him, Dean turned.

Eyes wandering the parking lot, Dean tried to find who might be watching. They searched the windows of the motel, seeking out the source of his discomfort. That’s when he spotted you, frozen in by your window, clutching at the curtain, staring at him with complete shock, shaking fear, and crushing pain.

As soon as his eyes met yours the spell was broken. You let go of the curtain and spun on your heels, stalking over to your bag so you could quickly pack your things and get the hell out before it was too late.

But it already was too late.

Your back went rigid at the sound of three unsure knocks on your door.

Standing still, ears pricked and listening, you waited. You wanted to know what would happen next. You wanted to know what he would do once he realised you weren’t going to answer. Why should you? It’s not like he answered the questions that were asked that day.

There was a pause as he waited, and then a pause as he contemplated what to do next. You could picture him, standing there, fist hovering in front of the door. Should he knock? Should he go?

In the end he chose the latter, walking away from your door with those heavy boots meeting the concrete path outside.

Once you were certain he was gone and wouldn’t return, you got back to packing your things. You wouldn’t leave though. Not now. Not when he could be waiting. Dean saw you, he knows what room you’re in, and he clearly wants to talk otherwise he wouldn’t have knocked on your door. So, you would wait until nightfall, and then you’d hope you could sneak out in the dark without him catching you.

…

Sitting at the end of the bed, on the edge of the mattress, you watched as the digital clock on the bedside table flickered ever so slightly. It read 11:34pm. It was close to midnight, and pitch black outside. You hoped that Dean would either be at some bar picking up some floozy, or fast asleep in whatever room he’d managed to grab earlier on.

You knew you could have gone by now. It wouldn’t take much to push yourself up, grab your bag, and make a break for it. But there was a nervous weight in your legs, keeping you grounded.

What if he wasn’t asleep? What if he was waiting for you? What if he wasn’t waiting for you? What if he just knocked on the door earlier to be polite? What if he wanted to thank you? What if the last three years had been the best years of his life?

Questions. So many questions. Your mind wouldn’t stop, and the longer you sat the worse it got.

“You’re a hunter, for crying out loud,” you scolded yourself. “You kill monster and fight demons. You are _not_ going to let some guy freak you out.”

Taking a moment longer, and then a deep breath, you built up all the strength you could muster and pushed yourself to your feet. After that it was easy.

Moving to the dining table, you grabbed your bag and your keys, making sure to leave the room key where it could be easily seen. Then you turned, starting for the door, making sure you controlled your breathing with each step.

Once outside, you pulled the door closed, making sure you heard the click of the lock before you turned and continued towards your car. It wasn’t too far, but seeing it five parking spaces away made you wish you’d been able to park it right outside your room earlier.

Jangling the keys in your hand, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder, you started forward. Eyes cast on your car, you focused on its scratched paint job and the fact you hadn’t washed in god knows how long. You kept yourself distracted, not wanting your mind to lingering into dangerous territory. Not wanting you mind to think about _him_.

Reaching forward, key outstretched and ready to slide into the lock, you let out a surprised yelp as a hand suddenly grabbed your arm and tugged until you turned away from the car.

“Dean.”

Green. That’s all you could see.

You’d almost forgotten how green his eyes were. They were like nothing you’d seen before, the colour changing much like his brother’s hazel eyes did. But no matter how much they changed they were always green. Always perfect.

So lost in the green, you almost missed the way he was looking at you. It was a complete contrast compared to how he’d last looked at you. The last time he looked at you it had felt like he was looking _through_ you. But now, it was as if he was falling deep into the depths of your own eyes.

As if he he’d spent the last three years looking for them. As if they’re all he needed to remember he’d once loved you. As if he’d been question why he’d let you walk away. As if nothing could capture his attention quite like your gaze.

His grip on your arm tightened, just ever so slightly, an attempt to keep you from running once more. His shoulders rolled, as he tried to shake the tension he’d been carrying since you left, and the nerves since he spotted you in the window. His feet stayed planted on the ground as his knees bent ever so slightly, ready to chase after you if need be.

Actions speak louder than words, and in that moment Dean’s body was practically screaming at you.

“You’ve got five minutes,” you told him, eyes cold and stony to keep yourself from letting him in once more. “I’m listening.”

**Bamby**


End file.
